


Snowflakes on Eyelashes

by thedeafwriter



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Christmas, Fluff, Johnlock - Freeform, Prompt is the title, SO FLUFFY, SO MUCH FLUFF, Snow, Snow Storm
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-01
Updated: 2015-12-01
Packaged: 2018-05-04 09:40:20
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 819
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5329430
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thedeafwriter/pseuds/thedeafwriter
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Whilst we are getting colder, let's see these two enjoy the snow!</p>
            </blockquote>





	Snowflakes on Eyelashes

It hasn’t snowed in London like this for _years_. At least, it has never snowed like this at the right time, in December instead of February or March, but the layering blanket of white is proof that Christmas will be snowy.

The whole of London groans.

They deal with it the same way they deal with every other weather; they complain.

John Watson is no different, but Sherlock is. Of course he would be.

Snow allows experimentation under different temperatures – _No Sherlock, I don’t care how important it is, you’re not putting your feet in snow to measure how long it takes you to get frostbite. No._ – and allowed him to observe people, namely John, fare when subjected to below zero temperatures – which is not well. Not well at all.

First, John would catch every cold that came by, even though he was dressed in at least –Sherlock had counted – five layers of clothes with a thick coat, gloves and a woolly hat on top.  He always finds a way to get his socks wet and Sherlock always finds him sat in front of a heater with a runny nose, grumbling under his breath about the cold and the snow.

Sherlock finds this very amusing. How can he not?

Of course, the novelty soon runs out as his clothes are beginning to be too thin for the harsh wind outside and he finds himself shivering besides John every night.

\---

It is nearly Christmas and Sherlock and John are standing in a frozen crime scene, everybody shivering except for the beautifully preserved body not two feet away from them. It is a young girl, dressed in a summer dress, looking as though she had just drifted off to sleep. The interesting part? She was reported missing over 4 years ago, but looks as though she hasn’t aged a day – _It’s a 5, John_. Sherlock had only taken it to get out of the flat due to the pathetic lack of cases when everyone and everything is freezing.

After rattling a few deductions off – _Frozen for years, most likely in a place where large frozen packages can slip by unnoticed, dumped here because the paedophilia and necrophilia combination of the murderer wasn’t enough for him, a man most likely due to ability to carry a body of this weight, to keep her_ – Sherlock and John begin to slowly trudge through the snow towards the flat.

Sherlock doesn’t notice that John is beginning to lag behind and only becomes aware of this when a big ball of _cold_ and _wet_ hits the back of his head. Turning around, expecting to see some pranking children, he sees John covering his mouth in an attempt to keep from laughing and clearly preparing to throw the snowball in his hand. Sherlock’s jaw drops slightly at this behaviour before ducking ~~at~~ the next ball. Quickly taking control of the situation, Sherlock bends down and picks up a handful of snow with his gloved hand and moulds it as quickly as he can into a ball. Before he gets hit again – _He must have a stack of them by now. Time it takes for him to create one: 8 per minute. Most likely number of snowballs: 10_ – Sherlock moves in front of the cover of the bin between them. It stays that way for a few minutes before Sherlock quietly, or as quietly as he can with the crackling snow, walks to John and hands John a face full of snow. The result is much spluttering and the pinking of faces as the cold finally attacks their skin.

“Perfectly childish, Sherlock,” John said after a fit of chuckles from them both so Sherlock didn’t take the comment to heart. Just then, just by chance, they look up and their faces fall. It is getting darker and if they know anything about London sky – John most likely knows more than Sherlock, the deleting detective – this means that the storm is about to be above them. And they most certainly do not want to be trapped.

With quick, almost fearful, steps, the detective and the blogger make their way to 221B Baker Street and lock the door behind them, shaking off the traces of snow before it melts and sinks into their bones. They weren’t quick enough, however, and it is John who comes up with the splendid idea of lighting the fire.

\--

Crackling besides them as they sit on the floor, are the gentle, warming flames that chase away all the cold around them even as snow thumps and wind rattles the windows. It can’t last much longer, the storm. Even though the electrics have gone off and there’s nothing to do but to count each other’s slow, contented breaths, 221B Baker Street finds itself in peaceful quiet. There are no uttered words declaring boredom, no hollow banging of bullets hitting wall. It is comfortable.

It is home.

**Author's Note:**

> My beta is - http://fortunatelykeendetective.tumblr.com/ (Who I will be eternally grateful for because she suffers through my many mistakes)


End file.
